


Somewhere Wild

by shadow_lover



Series: And Do Not Falter [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Come Inflation, Dream Sex, Established Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Size Kink, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), ToT: Chocolate Box, ToT: Monster Mash, Wolfed Out Sex, Wolflike!Solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:46:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: Slowly, reluctantly, the shadows fell away. Lavellan, for the first time, was afraid.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



> I am very grateful to the AO3 Matching Gods for sending your request my way - I hope you enjoy the resulting fic as much as I enjoyed writing it for you. Happy Halloween! :)

By the end of the night, he felt filthy. It was not from the blood. He saved the empress, and her gratitude seeped like poison through his veins. He wanted nothing more than to ride out immediately and make camp under the stars, but Celene offered them an entire floor of the guest wing. After a wary glance at Josephine, Lavellan accepted.

His assigned room was dark and blue and red and claustrophobic. Even in his nightclothes, he could feel the uniform’s collar tightening around his neck. He could not breathe through the falsehood in the air.

He slipped into stealth and moved as a wisp of shadow across the hall. Solas’s door was unlocked. He closed the door very softly and leaned back against it to look over his—

Lover was too tame a word.

Solas stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back and back straight as an arrow. Silvered in moonlight, he was so poised and still he seemed unreal. His own formal uniform had been shed in favor of a loose shirt that did nothing to soften the iron line of his shoulders.

He turned just enough to meet Lavellan’s eyes over his shoulder, and he said, “There is much pain embedded in the bones of Halam’shiral. It is not an easy place to rest.”

“I hate it,” Lavellan said, which was part of the truth. He hated the person he became to survive places like this.

“You are not meant for such people,” Solas said. “We are alike in that way.” He left the window to stand by the bed—a great four-postered thing hung with too many curtains. He watched him like he always did: fondly, warily, as if Lavellan were a flame cupped in his hands.

Lavellan drew nearer until they stood close enough to touch. He tipped his head back—he’d never met another elf so tall—and Solas leaned closer, but held himself back. He always let Lavellan reach first.

So Lavellan reached. His hand traced the smooth column of Solas’s neck, then pulled him down. Solas bent obediently into the kiss, his own hands light around Lavellan’s waist. The shared heat and strength steadied Lavellan. Solas kissed with such certainty, like all fear fled between one touch and the next.

Dizzy with exhaustion and a need for something real, Lavellan pressed forward. His hands slipped down from Solas’s neck to the hem of his shirt. But Solas took his wrists and pulled away. “I can feel your exhaustion.”

Lavellan glared, then sighed. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned his forehead against Solas’s chest. “I hate when you’re right,” he mumbled, which wasn’t true. He hated a great many things these days: the Winter Palace, Orlesian nobles, nobles in general, Venatori, red lyrium, deranged darkspawn magisters, the way strangers looked at him when they realized who he was.

But he didn’t hate anything about Solas.

When Solas released his wrists, he sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress was so high, his toes barely grazed the floorboards. He tilted his head back. “Will you guide my dreams?”

Solas stood over him. “Where would you like to go?” His fingers were cool on Lavellan’s jaw.

“Somewhere else. Somewhere wild.” He closed his eyes. “Somewhere true.”

“I know just the place.” The next kiss was feather-light on Lavellan’s forehead. Then firm, gentle hands pushed him down and back. Lavellan moved willingly, eyes still closed, until he lay curled on his side atop the silk and wool coverlet. Solas pressed behind him and held him close. 

Warmth, inside and out, steady breath in his hair. Aching muscles loosened one by one. He drifted. With his last waking moments, he murmured, “And I want you there.”

A long pause, and then, “As you wish, ma vhenan.”

Lavellan opened his eyes.

He stood in a clearing, with lush green grass to his knees. A dark and gnarled forest stretched all around him, so thickly canopied that no sky was visible even from the center of the clearing. Golden light diffused through twisting branches—distant daylight, or a lazy magic.

He looked at his hands. They looked very tan against the pure-white silk shirt. Both palms were marred only by calluses. He always knew he was dreaming when he didn’t have the anchor. 

The grass ruffled in a whispering breeze that did not touch the surrounding woods. The trees were silent. Lavellan breathed in, and in, and then exhaled. The air tasted of grass, dark earth, and faraway, familiar places.

There was a low growl behind him. He spun, but found only shadows sliding through the dark woods. He was more curious than afraid. Solas would not construct a dangerous world for him.

Unless something went wrong. Unless Halam’shiral’s dreams were too twisted by pain and blood, throwing even the deftest mind askew. “Solas?” he called quietly, yet it echoed and echoed around him. The wind picked it up, a susurration of _Solas, Solas, Solas_.

The shadows moved. They coalesced, still indistinct. The shape darkening between the trees was far away and very near; the answering voice was smooth and low right beside him: “Da’len.”

“Solas,” Lavellan said again. “Come into the light.”

The shadows clung to Solas as he emerged from the treeline, as if to shield him from sight. They were not the absence of light; they were something dark and powerful of themselves. They wrapped around Solas, veils upon veils, making him appear larger than he was.

Slowly, reluctantly, the shadows fell away. Lavellan, for the first time, was afraid.

For the monstrous form in front of him was unmistakably Solas. It stalked forward with the same easy grace; it had his gleaming eyes. It wore remnants of the gray garments Lavellan had first met him in. Yet its face was sharper, longer. It stood even taller, its shoulders broad and hunched and rippling with muscle. Dagger-long claws curled from its massive hands.

Lavellan had met werewolves before. He thought them sad creatures, torn between one being and another, never whole. This was no werewolf; there was no division between one form and the other. He simply _was_.

The creature stepped into his space, tracing claws so gently up his silk-clad side. He thought absurdly of calling to Solas for help; instead, he stood frozen, like a fawn caught between fight and flight.

When Solas’s lips parted, his teeth were sharp. “You wanted somewhere wild.”

“And somewhere true,” Lavellan said. “Is this true?”

“There is more truth in the world and in dreams than this. But yes, if you wish. This is true.” 

“Good,” Lavellan said.

It was unclear who reached first, but then they were entangled. Lavellan grasped at broad shoulders, fingers catching in torn clothing. He kissed down the strong neck, as Solas snarled and curved over him. Claws rent through Lavellan’s silks; the thin lines of pain were like getting caught in snarled branches.

He stumbled, pressed back by the forceful embrace. He would have fallen had Solas not held him by the hips, and then Solas lifted him up off the ground. Lavellan whined as a rough, wide tongue lapped at his pulse. Solas held him so tightly, fingers curving around his ass, claws not quite tearing into him. He jerked forward, rutting against Solas’s belly.

Solas growled approvingly.

The world heaved and Lavellan’s stomach dropped as Solas knelt. Then Solas was pushing him back onto the ground, roughly flipping him over and shoving at his limbs until he lay, face and chest pressed to the dirt, propped up on his knees. The long grass was soft against his skin, which was bare where his clothes had been torn away—and so cool in comparison to the wild heat pressed along the rest of him.

“So brave.” In the waking world, Solas would have said more—sometimes in the waking world he never shut up—but in dreams, they needed fewer words. The air was alive with their need. Lavellan trembled; a possessive desire not his own unfurled in his chest. Solas pressed flush against his body, hard cock sliding against his ass. Thick and hot even through the remnants of their clothing—larger, Lavellan thought, than Solas was in the waking world.

Solas shredded the rest of his trousers. Wetness dripped into his crack. Lavellan moaned and rocked back, and the hot, hard cock slid between his cheeks.

“Please,” Lavellan gasped. There was no chance Solas would not obey.

They had no oil in this dream, but Solas’s cock was so wet with precome—or there _was_ oil—yes, Lavellan was wet and open and he _needed_ this. A clawed hand splayed over his upper back as the other hand hooked around his hip. Hot breath gusted into the long shell of his ear as Solas shifted back, and then forward, and then roughly, massively in.

Lavellan groaned as he opened for the giant cock—fenedhis, Solas was huge. Not as it first shoved into Lavellan, but the cock thickened and thickened. It was bearable until it wasn’t, and however much he loved this, he couldn’t help his instinctive struggle. His knees dug into the wet earth. His fingers grasped desperately at the smooth grass. Solas wasn’t even moving now, just paused inside him, and he was falling apart.

 _Solas,_ he tried to say, but managed only a faint wheeze. But Solas answered, less a voice and more a thought made real and dangerous: “So _good_ , da’len.”

Lavellan whined, shuddering and split open on the massive cock. The heat and pressure stretching him, the monstrous body weighing heavy on him—the raw, complete connection was more real than anything he’d known in months.

He screwed shut his eyes. “Please,” he said again, and Solas’s answering growl was so warm and loving he could hardly stand it.

Solas moved. He pulled slowly, cock dragging over strained flesh and flaring nerves. The emptiness was at once torture and relief, until Solas slammed back in. The thrust knocked him breathless, shoving at just the right spot, again, again. Unbearable pleasure rippled through him.

He couldn’t breathe; he didn’t need to. All he needed was dreams and truth and pain like this. He needed Solas driving into him, holding him down, fucking him into the dirt like he was a person and not a title. Not the Inquisitor, not the Herald, just Lavellan, fragile and wanting.

_And what is Solas? A monster? A wolf?_

_It doesn’t matter, if he’s mine._

Solas rutted faster, losing control. He panted hotter and louder in Lavellan’s ear. Lavellan tried rocking into it, but he had no leverage. Caged in by claws, he let go to simply ride the cresting pleasure and pain. His heart hammered. He was so close, so achingly hard—pleasure thrumming through his veins, heat tightening in his balls.

But Solas finished first. He drove all the way in with brutal force, shuddering into him. A pulse of heat, so shocking, incandescent, unreal. Gasping, Lavellan tumbled over the edge. He jerked, clenching down around the massive cock as he released.

He was still spasming when there was a new pressure against his already-stretched hole. Lavellan’s eyes flew open as Solas swelled inside him, a firm knot expanding and pushing past his rim. Even slicked up with oil and seed, he couldn’t take this, and yet he did, while Solas growled words he could not understand—no Elvish he had ever heard—

“Hold still for me, da’len,” Solas purred. It was a useless command; he already held Lavellan firmly in place; but still Lavellan whined and tried to breathe and hold still and _relax_ —

The knot lodged right against his prostate. He was still too raw from orgasm and the stimulation hurt. He loved it. He loved giving into this even as it terrified him.

Solas still pumped into him, more and more seed filling him up. Slick and sticky and full, he was drunk with how good this felt, giving his body up to hold what Solas gave. He was a vessel.

He whimpered. So much flooded through him. His body already distended with the size of the cock spearing him, and now his belly was stretching further with each heavy pulse of seed. Waves of pleasure, pain, nausea—pleasure again—crashed through him. He couldn’t even struggle, so exhausted by the overwhelming force. Solas wasn’t holding him down anymore; his palms stroked up and down Lavellan’s trembling sides. Cupped underneath him to caress his swelling belly, to toy with his raw, oversensitive cock.

His hand burned, and he opened his eyes: green light spilled from his clenched fist.

“You’re mine,” Solas said, and darkness fell.

Lavellan woke to silk sheets, strong arms, and damp trousers. He had finished in truth as well, but Solas had not; his cock still pressed hard against Lavellan’s ass. Lavellan was so worn-down, body and soul, he didn’t think he could take any more. Even if it had been all a dream.

_A nightmare._

_A dream._ These days, he wasn’t sure there was a difference. He rolled over to look down at Solas. Faint moonlight illuminated the possessive hunger in his eyes, the smug curl of his lips.

Solas gathered him close, and he ducked his head against Solas’s chest. His blank right hand splayed over Solas’s heart. “You haven’t,” he started, but Solas murmured, “Just rest, ma vhenan.”

Lavellan acquiesced and closed his eyes. If he dreamed again, he did not remember it by morning.


End file.
